The Measure of a Man
by The Treacle Tart
Summary: When a familiar voice contacts him looking for help, Remus is drawn back into a world he had forsaken long ago to stop a killer. RLBW


**Author's note**: I utilize popular mythology that says only silver, decapitation, or the pulling out of its heart can kill a werewolf.

Many thanks to leftsockarchive for all her help. All remaining mistakes belong to me.

**The Measure of a Man**

"He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."

_Friedrich Nietzsche_

Something about the phone call intrigued him. Perhaps it was the voice itself-- deep tones with soft lilts that triggered something in the recesses of his memory. He knew that tenor, not intimately perhaps, but it was familiar enough to warm him even if it also twisted his insides into knots.

Perhaps it wasn't the voice at all but the basis for the call: an unknown, unidentified body lying in a morgue, the kind of person most people want to forget, gone missing. An unclaimed body, that was due to be cremated among a dozen of the cities nameless, suddenly disappears. The police aren't informed as no one really cares; they call it a simple case of vandalism, some freak getting his rocks off with a corpse, and decide they don't have the time to look for a body no one wants. No one but an anonymous voice on the other side of a phone line asking for help.

No, Remus decided, it wasn't the mysterious voice or even the reason for the call that piqued his interest, it was the fact that the nameless man called him "Professor." It linked him to a world Remus had left behind so long ago, and one that he missed just enough to make him leave the quiet comfort of his office and trek across the city during a torrential rainstorm to find out what had become of a dead man.

* * *

"Hello, Remus. I haven't seen you in a while."

"Hey Desmond," Remus replied cordially. "How's Millie?"

"Still with me despite her better judgment," Desmond answered with a barking laugh. "You here on business?"

Remus smiled at the squat, stoop-shouldered man who maintained the City Morgue. "I heard you had a robbery here last night."

Desmond's smile slipped and he shrugged helplessly. "Darnedest thing, Remus. I came in the office this morning and nothing out here was any different, not the half finished cup of coffee on my desk or the cigarette butts in my ashtray. There wasn't a paper out of place. I enter the vault to get a spot ready for a body coming in later today and I find Reilly missing."

Remus was quite used to hearing Desmond refer to the corpses that passed through this vault by some name. Desmond hated the fact that many of these bodies went unclaimed and hated even more the idea that anyone would die alone, so for the short while that he and the 'formerly living' were in each other's company he gave them a name. He talked to them, read them articles from the paper, and sometimes cried for them.

Normally, the circumstances of their meetings were unpleasant given the nature of both their jobs, but Remus liked Desmond and on quiet days would sometimes bring him coffee and his favorite jelly-filled doughnuts. There was nothing social about his visit, however. Remus looked at the overflowing ashtray that sat on Desmond's desk. "Tell me about Reilly." he said.

"Not much to tell," Desmond replied with a sigh. "He came in three days ago. Young fellow, maybe in his late twenties, but haggard looking, thin and heavily scarred."

"An addict?"

"Not those kinds of scars, deep ones on his shoulder and arms. Like it was mangled in some accident."

Remus nodded slowly as Desmond kept talking. "The coroner couldn't determine a cause of death. There wasn't any sign of trauma to the body, not fresh trauma anyway; those scars were very old. An autopsy revealed nothing. All his organs seemed to be in perfect working order, 'cepting they weren't working anymore, of course."

"Blood work?" Remus asked.

Desmond raised an eyebrow. "Well, here's where it gets interesting. They found traces of something in his blood that they couldn't recognize. A stomach contents analysis showed he hadn't eaten anything in the twenty-four hours prior to his death but that he had drank some sort of odd cocktail before that. They were able to determine some of the ingredients and they were all natural: herbs, plant roots, and some animal matter. Nearest they can figure he's on some wacky, new age diet and he had an allergic reaction to one of the ingredients."

Remus had known Desmond long enough to recognize the cynicism in his voice. "You're not buying it, are you?"

Desmond shook his head slowly. "Remus, I've seen a lot. More than any man should in one lifetime. Things some should never see at all. What I've never seen is a perfectly healthy looking dead body, not in this place. The ones that end up here have had some hard living and it shows. There was no sign as to why this guy was dead. He looked…he looked like he was sleeping."

Remus remained silent as Desmond spoke, taking in all the details as he quickly scanned the room. "There was no forced entry, was there? Not out here, but not in the vault either?"

Desmond's eyes went wide. "Yeah, how did you know?"

"I've seen something like it before," he said sadly. "Can I have a look around?"

"Please," Desmond answered as he motioned with his hand.

Remus knew he wouldn't find much. These types of…criminals never left a mark. Just as Desmond said, the outside office showed no signs of anything being out of place. "Can I see the vault?" he finally asked after finding nothing of consequence.

Desmond didn't hesitate. After the door was unlocked, Remus stepped inside and was immediately assaulted with the unmistakable imprint of magic. Whomever took the body was a wizard, one who Apparated in, found what he was looking for, and quickly Disapparated without so much as leaving a fingerprint. "Where was Reilly kept?" he asked Desmond, who promptly pointed to a slot numbered 73 on the far right of the wall.

Remus took a cloth out of his pocket as he walked over. He carefully grasped the handle and pulled out the empty drawer. Almost instantly a scent filled the air. Remus inhaled deeply, letting his senses be overrun with something he hadn't smelled in years. "Desmond, what did Reilly look like?"

"He was about five foot eleven. Fair skinned. Blue eyes. Light brown hair--"

"Prematurely gray?"

"Yeah," Desmond said, his breath catching. "Did you know him?"

"I'm not sure. Did he have any distinguishing features other than the scars? Birth marks, a body piercing or a…a tattoo?"

"Yeah," he said excitedly. "He had a small tattoo on his wrist."

"A series of numbers?" Remus asked.

Desmond swallowed hard. "Yeah. You did know him, didn't you?"

Remus shook his head slowly for a long moment before he asked, "Do you remember the number?"

"I might," he said softly. "Remus, he didn't die from an allergic reaction, did he?"

* * *

Three hours later Remus was back in his office looking over his notes. A few gaps were filled but they only seemed to open other holes elsewhere. Before he could go any further, however, he would wait to be contacted by the mysterious voice again. Suddenly he caught a whiff of something in the air…on the other side of his door. Sandalwood and spice. Male. Magic.

He wasn't surprised that his visitor entered without knocking and he was only slightly surprised at seeing a familiar shock of vibrant ginger hair. It was much shorter than he remembered, cropped in the back and partially shaved, long in the font, hanging down to his nose. The fang that hung from his earlobe was now accompanied by several other rings that ran up the ridge of his ear. His face covered in angry thin scars; a souvenir from the past. Peaking out from under a brown leather jacket was a black inked tattoo that looked like shadows and flames running over his clavicle and up his neck. Remus recognized it as the Mark of The Phoenix, an image many bore to signify the loss of a loved one during the last great war. Judging by the size he must have lost someone he cared for very much.

"Bill," Remus said, his voice coarse with the memories his visitor brought with him.

"Hello, Remus. It's been a while." His smile was a bit disarming-- glittering white teeth with sharp incisors and blush colored lips. Despite that, it seemed somewhat hollow. He was nervous about something, or uncomfortable, and Remus could never remember him being either in his presence before.

"Bill," he said again with a short nod. "It has been a while. Please have a seat."

Bill sat in the chair on the other side of his desk; he unzipped his jacket revealing a white pullover with the emblem of some musical band Remus had never heard of. "How've you been?" he asked.

"Good," he said with a slight shrug. "You?"

Bill's smile twisted. "Probably as good as you."

Remus couldn't help but smile back. It had been a long time since he spoke to anyone who would really understand without his needing to go into an explanation. "So you found me," he finally said.

"So I found you," Bill replied. "Mind you, it wasn't difficult. You didn't even bother to change your name."

"I have nothing to hide."

"But you are hiding," Bill said softly.

"No," Remus replied plainly. "I left behind a world that didn't want me in it. Just because no one came looking for me until now doesn't mean I was hiding."

"Fair enough."

Silence filled the room as the men considered each other. Remus got the feeling that Bill had a lot to say, or at least a lot on his mind, but Remus had learned quite a bit in his lifetime and he wasn't going to offer anything that was specifically solicited.

"I've been doing a bit of checking up on you," Bill finally said. "You've made quite a name for yourself in the Muggle world."

"I suppose." Remus could feel his cheeks begin to burn. He never asked for notoriety but it seemed to follow him. "Early on, I helped locate a politician's niece and I'm afraid I've found myself in the local papers more often than I care to."

"The Human Bloodhound, they called you. A private investigator that can sense things other humans can't."

Remus shrugged again. "The papers like sensational stories; I doubt they realized how close they were to the truth of it."

Bill leaned in, resting his elbows on his thighs. "You're happy here, then?"

Remus regarded him for a moment, a bit confused by the question. "Happiness is a relative thing, Bill. In one world, my condition made me an unemployable pariah. In another, I can use my heightened senses to earn a lucrative living. Working for myself allows me to take time off every month without anyone asking why. It helps that Muggles don't believe in werewolves as anything other than fodder for campfire stories and bad movies. I suppose I'm content here in ways I never was anywhere else."

"But…"

"But it's not my world," he said, his voice straining. "It's not where I choose to remain, but where I must."

The impact of his words seemed to strike something in Bill, whose face softened. "You're missed, you know."

"I do," Remus admitted. He had stopped feeling guilty about that long ago. The war was over and even after all he'd done, his station in life had not improved. It was time to move on even if he didn't want to leave it all behind. "But, somehow, I don't think you came all this way to tell me that."

"No, I didn't."

Remus could tell Bill didn't know how to broach the subject and, considering the little bit he had unearthed, he could understand why. "So, someone's hunting werewolves," he said candidly.

Bill's eyes went wide and Remus almost laughed; he loved when he got that sort of reaction. "Someone used magic to get in and out of the morgue," Remus began. "Someone powerful, perhaps several people; they left a rather intense imprint of their magic behind. The drawer where the body was kept smelled sharply of wolfsbane and its former inhabitant had a serial number tattooed on his wrist-- a number given to people upon registration with the Ministry after a werewolf bite. That particular serial number belongs to Marcus Odeon, the son of a rather high-ranking special missions operative in the Minister's private army. My best guess is that there are already several people with more resources than I can offer looking in on this. It is most likely that they are actually the one who came and retrieved the body. So the only reason to call me at all is that I might be a target. Am I close?"

"The papers weren't wrong," Bill said with a certain amount of awe. "You are good at this."

"I am good but there are a few major flaws in my thesis. For example, this man was killed with the Avada Kedavra. Last time I checked only silver could kill a werewolf. Well, silver or the decapitation of its head or the removal of its heart which, by all accounts, wasn't the case."

"There is an answer to that," Bill said, sitting back in his chair.

Remus considered his next words carefully. "He was no longer a werewolf."

"That would be the answer," Bill replied with a nod.

"He was cured?" It came out rather more wistfully than he intended, the mere idea of it something he had never really considered until he was faced with a dead werewolf and not an ounce of silver in sight.

"Yes, he was cured."

"How?"

Bill's shoulders slumped. "I don't know."

"If he was cured why was he still taking wolfsbane?"

"I don't know that either."

"How did he end up in a Muggle morgue?"

Bill only shook his head.

Remus leaned over his desk, resting his elbows on the stack of files that sat there. "He wasn't the only one, was he?" Remus didn't know why he asked, but it seemed to fit. One missing person, werewolf or otherwise, wouldn't have brought Bill to see him.

"No," Bill replied sullenly. "No, he wasn't."

"How many others were found?"

"Twenty-two."

His stomach cinched tightly. "Twenty-two."

"The remains of two small clans in the Urals were found recently. Other isolated cases throughout Britain, France, and Germany. All dead. At first it seemed to be silver poisoning but the more recent ones…well, Marcus wasn't the first one to perish at the hands of the killing curse. There were some in between that were killed with…by more traditional methods."

"Dead by any means necessary."

"That appears to be the case."

"At first no one really thought there was a connection, but it's really difficult to ignore a string of dead werewolves. I'm afraid it went uninvestigated for months because…well--"

"Because no one really cared if there were a few less werewolves in the world." There was no emotion behind the comment. No bitterness or anger. It was a simple statement of fact. Bill, on the other hand, looked as though he'd been punched in the stomach.

In the silence that followed, they regarded each other again. Both had more to tell and neither was willing.

"Why do you think I might be in danger?" Remus asked.

Bill ran his hand through his hair and sat back in his chair. He flashed Remus a small smile before replying: "Truthfully, you're the only werewolf I know personally, and I'd rather not have you dead."

* * *

They made plans to meet the next day and figure out exactly what their next step was. Remus sat up all night in a chair beside his window, his knees up and his feet resting on the sill. He took a long, deep drag from a cigarette as he mulled over the activities of the day. All they knew was that someone was curing werewolves and then killing them. It seemed an awful lot of trouble to go through to kill a werewolf. Silver bullets weren't hard to find.

The fact of the matter was, shooting a werewolf wasn't illegal. It was easy enough to claim self-defense and no one would ever question it. _No one._ The killing curse, however, was illegal; it was the most heinous of all the Unforgivables. If someone simply wanted to hunt werewolves he'd have the Ministry's thanks. So why commit a crime that could possibly land one in Azkaban for eternity?

"I don't think our killer is hunting werewolves for sport," Remus said as he watched the steam rise from his cup. The sun was barely over the horizon when he called Bill and asked him to meet at Sheffield's, the coffee shop where he ate practically all his meals.

"Some vigilante looking to make the streets safer?" Bill asked, his own cup long drained of any liquid.

"Somewhat, I suppose." Remus really wished he had another cigarette. "You said some of the werewolves were killed with silver while the other… The latter ones were killed with the killing curse."

"Right."

"What if someone was really trying to find a cure? He would need to experiment, wouldn't he? He would need… guinea pigs."

Bill's eyes narrowed as his brow furrowed. He tapped his finger nervously on the tabletop. Slowly, he began to shake his head. "But why kill them then, if he were really trying to help them?"

"I'm not sure." Remus's eyes returned to his no longer steaming cup.

Miriam, a stout waitress with short, bleached blond hair and dark red lipstick stopped at the table to refresh their coffee. "Something wrong with this morning's brew, Remus? You 'aven't touched it."

"It's fine, Miriam. I'm just a bit slower getting started this morning," Remus answered with a slight grin.

"I see," she said with a knowing smile. She turned to Bill and refilled his cup. "Try not to keep him so late next time." She winked at Bill before moving on to the next table.

"Friendly lot in this place," Bill said amusedly as he added sugar to his cup.

"Miriam likes me," Remus replied, a bit embarrassed at her remark to Bill. "She keeps trying to set me up with her relatives. First it was her nieces, Rona and Evie. Then I told her I preferred men and it was her nephew Ferris and her second cousin Edgar."

"Trolls, I gather?" Bill asked with a hearty smile.

"Possibly, I wouldn't know."

"You didn't give them a try. I sort of like the name Ferris; he might have been all right."

"I don't date," Remus said, a tone of finality in his voice.

Bill watched him for a moment as if weighing what to say next. "All right then, let's say our werewolf hunter was actually trying to find a cure. To what gain? International fame? Money?"

"No, I don't think so," Remus said as something clicked in his head. "Something much more personal, I think." He looked down at his untouched coffee. "Tell me Bill, do you still have any contacts at the Ministry?"

* * *

Brigadier General Alistair Odeon was a barrel-chested man with short black hair heavily interspersed with silvery grey. His starched black robes bore dozens of medals, including two Orders of Merlin, First Class. He had coal black eyes that reminded Remus briefly of Severus Snape, only less friendly.

"Remus Lupin," he said coolly. "I had heard you went into hiding."

Remus didn't feel like he owed this man any sort of explanation as to where he had been and why he was there, so he sat quietly as those cold eyes inspected him.

"Thank for seeing us," Bill interrupted, probably noting some hostility in the air between his friend and the officer seated across from them.

"I can always spare time for one of Arthur's boys. How is the old man?"

"All right," Bill answered with a bit of a smile. "These days he's got his hands full with a couple of grandkids."

"Your kids?"

"No," Bill replied quickly.

"Oh, that's right," General Odeon replied, his eyes narrowing as he seemed to remember something. "I was sorry to hear about your wife."

Remus froze as the ghost of rumors long forgotten began wafting through his mind: about Bill eloping with a French girl, about the girl getting pregnant, about the girl getting captured. The meaning of the Mark of the Phoenix decorating Bill's neck suddenly made too much sense.

"Thank you," Bill said stiffly, his eyes looking to Remus for a split second. "I was sorry to hear about your loss as well."

If it were at all possible, the brawny man's exterior seemed to harden further. "My loss?"

"Your son. Marcus."

The general folded his hands over the table and leaned forward. "Why are you here?"

Remus answered: "Your son's body was being held in a Muggle morgue from which it disappeared two days ago."

"I know. I'm the one who got him. I don't see what this has to do with you."

"He was killed."

"I'm well aware of that, as well." His black eyes began to shine.

"General Odeon, we are aware that your son was a werewolf. We are also aware that he was killed using the killing curse which, as I'm sure you know, is not effective against werewolves. We believe that someone is going around using werewolves in some kind of experiment to find a cure and is killing them off when he's failed… or when he's done with them."

Remus could see the muscles of the general's jaw straining. "I still don't see what this has to do with you."

"Besides the fact that I am a werewolf who is not too thrilled with the idea of dying, I had thought you might want some assistance in finding out what happened to your son."

The general sat back and placed two tight fists on the desktop. "I don't need any help from you," he spat. "I will find those responsible for what happened to my son and I will see to it that justice is served. You can leave now."

Bill made to speak out but Remus placed a steadying hand on his chest and restrained him.

"This goes far beyond your son, General," Remus said plainly. "Someone is going around killing werewolves, and while the Ministry might not think it worthy of a proper investigation, some of us do."

"You have no business--"

"It's my life we're talking about," Remus stated firmly. "I have every right. I don't take kindly to systematic slaughter of any kind, especially not the genocide of an entire population of any race. We can either help each other or not, but one way or another I will proceed in my investigation."

Those glittering black eyes studied Remus, who didn't flinch under the scrutiny. The general stood up straight and, after taking several cleansing breathes, spoke: "There is a werewolf pack that runs in a desolate part of Deodar Cedar Forest. You might want to start there. Now I believe I told you, you could leave."

Remus stared back at the general for a long moment before nodding his head and leaving. Both he and Bill were at the door when he turned around to address the officer one more time. "I really am sorry about your son and I will do everything in my power to make sure justice is served." He knew a response was not forthcoming so he opened the door and crossed the threshold.

They stepped out into the corridor and Remus walked right into a tall, thin man with a scowl on his face who huffed at Remus as he passed. He watched the thin man stalk down the hall and after a moment Remus turned around and took off. He darted down the passageway leaving Bill jogging to keep up. As a rule Remus didn't like being in the Ministry building any longer than he had to. Each visit brought with it some event that would alter the rest of his life.

When he reached the lift he pressed and held the button until the doors opened. His downcast eyes caught sight of a pair of highly polished burgundy oxfords peering out from beneath a heavy formal robe. Remus let his gaze travel up the stiff crease of the garment until he came face to face with a familiar sneer and a pair of narrowed hazel eyes. Both men stared at each other for several seconds before either moved. No words were exchanged as the lift's occupant left and Remus and Bill entered. They stood in the vestibule and waited, and just as the doors began to close Remus caught site of the man who had just got off the elevator talking with the thin, scowling man. Both turned to face Remus just as the door clacked shut and the lift began its descent.

They walked out of the Ministry offices and out onto the street. Once they were in the clear, they Apparated back to Remus's office.

"Are you going to tell me who that was?" Bill asked, dropping into the chair across from Remus's desk.

"Who?"

"The bloke on the lift that nearly snarled at you."

Remus gave a half smile; Bill had a keen eye. "Bennet Wharton. An esteemed member of the Minister's Commission on Inter-Species Relations."

"Not a nice chap, I reckon."

Remus snorted. "Wharton has a knack for keeping legislation tied up indefinitely. There's a motion to allow goblins and giants an equal voice in Ministry elections that's been floundering for years."

Bill's eyes lit up. "Wait. I know that guy. The Chief goblin at Gringott's used to talk about him all the time. When the Minister had to reconstruct the bank after the first war Wharton fought against allowing them to continue running it."

"Mr. Wharton has some pretty austere viewpoints when it comes to those of us who are….a bit different."

Bill leaned in. "A suspect?"

"Everyone's a suspect, Bill," Remus said carefully. "Never forget that."

Bill watched Remus for some time before speaking again. "General Odeon didn't seem too pleased to see us."

"I didn't expect him to give us a hug and a pat on the back," Remus replied.

"What did you expect?"

"I wanted to see a few things, namely his attitude toward werewolves and toward his son."

"Well, I don't think he's fond of werewolves; he practically bit your head off."

Remus snorted. "I'm a werewolf and a war hero. Somehow that made me very unpopular with the Ministry, especially when they were trying to tell the general population that people like me didn't deserve equal rights." Remus got up and opened a window, pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, and lit one up. He offered one to Bill who shook him off. "Did you notice he had pictures of his family all over his desk and his son wasn't in any of them?"

"You never saw his son," Bill remarked. "He was long gone from the morgue by the time you got there. How can you tell that his picture wasn't in the office?"

Remus blew a long puff of smoke out the window. "Marcus was described to me, and judging from the pictures on his desk he resembled his mother. All the males in the pictures looked like their father."

"Still, I'm not sure that means he didn't like his son."

"Bill, think about your Dad for a moment. Think about how he would behave if one of his children were killed. Do you think he'd refuse anyone's offer to help? Especially someone with such a personal stake in finding out the truth? Don't you think he'd do anything in his power to make sure the killing stopped?"

Bill smiled warmly. "You can't measure all men by my father."

"I can and I should."

"Remus," Bill began, his fingers running through his shortened hair. "We're talking about a military man with an army at his disposal. Maybe he'd rather keep this to himself and handle it personally. Maybe he wants to be the one who catches the killer. Besides, with people like Wharton in the Ministry, maybe he was trying to protect his son. In any case, he did give us a lead; he did give us a place to start."

Remus wasn't so sure the good general's suggestion was purely an altruistic one. He wondered if it didn't have more to do with the general wanting to keep tabs on their activities. But Bill didn't have the benefit of Remus's skepticism of the world. Oddly, Remus found he envied that. His eyes were drawn to the tattoo on Bill's neck. The shorn hair made the mark conspicuous, which Remus figured was the point of shaving the hair in the first place.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly.

Bill was confused by the comment. "Sorry about what?"

"About Fleur."

Bill looked down and just nodded slowly. "Thank you," he said softly. "I was surprised you didn't ask who the Mark of the Phoenix was for. It usually takes people less than two minutes to inquire."

Remus only shrugged. "It wasn't my business. I figured if you wanted to talk about it you would. A mark like that one is a very personal one. I… I know a little something about that." Remus looked down at his hand and turned his wrist over, revealing a serial number permanently etched on his skin.

Bill looked down at the tattoo magically made to spread out as the skin expanded in the case of children that suffered the bite. It practically glowed on Remus's fair skin, black as the day it was first imprinted on his wrist. Remus's very own Dark Mark.

"How old were you?" Bill asked, his eyes honed onto the series of numbers.

Remus picked his hand up and turned his wrist, watching the light and shadows run across the serial numbers, illuminating one digit at a time. With a deep sigh he answered. "Too young to understand what was happening, and too old to ever forget it."

Remus found himself suddenly very tired. "I'm going home," he said suddenly. "I have a few things to prepare. But I want to meet later this evening. Come to my apartment, we'll Apparate from there."

"To the Deodar Cedar Forest?"

"Not yet. We have to make a stopover first."

* * *

Remus realized the moment he saw Bill walk through his door that he couldn't leave his past behind. In truth, he could have tried harder to escape it; it just never occurred to him that anyone would come looking.

He stood in front of a door he thought he'd never see again and wondered how many more demons would be resurrected before he could go back to his quiet, solitary life. He raised his hand to knock but the door opened before he ever touched the dark wood.

"I wondered how long it would take until you came here."

"Severus," Remus said with the faintest trace of a smile. "It's good to see you. Still frightening small children?"

"Are you still eating them?"

Bill stood behind Remus, shifting his feet. "It's all right, Bill," he said with obvious amusement in his voice. "This is how we play."

In a very un-Severus like manner, the Potions master smiled. "Come in."

Remus and Bill entered Severus Snape's private home. It had changed little since the last time Remus had seen it years prior. Same elegant, worn furniture, same atrocious color scheme and a cauldron forever bubbling on his private workstation-- most likely with some experiment the Ministry would not approve of. There were more books, more roles of parchment, an extra cauldron now that Remus really took a moment to look, but, otherwise, it was as it had always been and while that thought comforted Remus it also made him more nostalgic than he was ready to be.

Remus and Bill sat on the settee in Severus's sitting room while Severus sat on the armchair across from them. Without asking, Severus conjured a glass of Graphorn Scotch over ice for Remus and a glass of dark Merlot for himself. "Can I offer you something to drink, Mr. Weasley?"

Bill stared at the glass that appeared on the table in front of Remus and then up at Remus's face. His confusion at the scene playing out before him was quite cute and had they been there on a more social visit, Remus might have commented on it. But things being what they were…

"Just water if you don't mind, Professor," Bill finally said, seeming to wake from his stupor. Almost instantly, a glass of ice-cold water appeared before him.

"I gather you know why we're here," Remus began, finding himself uncomfortable in the all too comfortable scene.

"You're hunting the werewolf hunter."

_Subtle as always_, Remus thought. "How poetic."

Severus smiled again, and again Bill shifted awkwardly in the seat next to Remus.

"We think someone is trying to cure werewolves," Remus said, ignoring Bill's movements.

This caught Severus's attention and his eyes went wide. "Cure them?" he asked, and then his eyes narrowed. "Cure them to kill them?"

"I'm not convinced they meant to kill anyone. I think they were trying to perfect a formula and decided to recruit volunteers. If they died in the process--"

"So be it," Severus finished. "I don't know of anyone looking into a cure," he began, his eyes darting back and forth as though he were reading words off a parchment. "Then again that kind of research wouldn't be highly publicized, so I doubt I would have heard anything at all. What makes you think someone has found a cure?" Severus leaned forward, resting his hands on his lap, his fingers interlaced.

"Some of the most recent deaths, including Marcus Odeon, were caused by the Killing Curse. There wasn't a trace of silver anywhere in his body."

"While most of the others were killed with silver?"

Remus nodded. "Most. But not all. There seems to be a progression: the older the deaths, the more silver was found. The more recent deaths were achieved by more normal means."

"And you think the same person who cured them, killed them?"

"I do."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure."

"But you have an idea." Severus took a long sip of his wine, his eyes never leaving Remus.

It was Remus's turn to shift. He forgot how well Severus knew him. "No werewolf, no being that is not one hundred percent human, is a stranger to experimentation. We are the last frontier for many wizards looking to make a mark on the world. Rid the world of the scourge of half-breeds that walk around unchained and you have saved Wizarding kind. I have known several ambitious charms masters who tried to reinforce our bones to keep us from changing during the full moon. Many Transfigurations experts tried to turn us into a more cooperative monster after the moon rise –"

"And many Potions masters who saw you as a personal challenge…and not a person."

Remus smiled. "A fair few."

Severus nodded knowingly. "I can tell you from first hand experience, Remus, that it is very foolish to destroy the one thing crucial to your research."

Remus paused to gather his thoughts before commenting. He was a creature of instinct; he had no choice in the matter. His nature pushed him to follow his intuition wherever it may lead. More often than not he had little else at his disposal but his own sense of survival. It was difficult to make others understand the compulsion. "I think the ultimate payoff outweighed the casualties that may have occurred along the way. I doubt they even realize how their attempts were harming the very beings they were attempting to cure."

"I don't think anyone can leave a string of dead bodies behind and not know they're doing harm."

"It not just the outright murder, Severus. The whole process is flawed. They very idea is unsound." He paused to gather his thoughts. "Being a werewolf is part of our identity. We may hate what being a werewolf has done to our lives, and we may forever resent all that we have lost because of the affliction, but we are the wolf as much as the wolf is us. I can't imagine how I would react to suddenly having this part of my life, part of me, suddenly taken away. My mind--"

"Might not be able to reconcile the loss." Severus finished his sentence again.

Remus nodded. "Someone who is not a werewolf, who had never dealt with the dichotomy those opposing personalities can cause, wouldn't realize that taking away the wolf is killing half the man. There were traces of wolfsbane found in Marcus's stomach. I'm not sure he wanted to be cured. I think that when he didn't change as he was supposed to, he became frenzied, overwrought. I don't think they meant to kill him; I don't think they had a choice. Then there was also the fact that he ended up an unidentified body in a Muggle morgue which tells me he was trying to get away from something."

"Running for his life?"

"Perhaps," Remus said slowly. "I'm really not sure who he was trying to protect."

Severus watched him through guarded eyes. "But you have an idea."

"Not really." Remus hoped Severus wouldn't call his bluff. He wasn't ready to name names.

"We're going to the Deodar Cedar Forest," Bill interjected. It startled Remus, who nearly forgot he was there.

"Why?" Severus asked.

"A pack of werewolves run there. General Odeon suggested it as a starting point."

Severus's eyebrows went up and he turned to Remus. It was obvious that he questioned the general's motive as Remus had. Suddenly he gave Remus a crooked smile. "I gather that's what brought you here tonight."

Remus only nodded. Bill's eyes volleyed back and forth between Remus and Severus, waiting to be clued in to the reason. Seeing his confusion, Remus clarified. "Werewolves are not a very trusting bunch. Those who choose to live in the wild, as opposed to acclimating with other humans, are especially apprehensive. They would probably not appreciate our intruding on their territory. I was hoping Severus would supply us with an offering."

"You mean like a bribe?"

"More of a gift," he replied with a smile before turning back to Severus. "Can I count on your help?"

Severus regarded him for a moment as if carefully weighing the decision. Remus knew it was an act, one Severus had crafted well over the last few decades. He would reluctantly agree to help Remus, make it seem like it was a burden and a strain on his time and resources, and make sure Remus understood he was making a grave sacrifice of his time.

And right on cue, Severus began: "Seeing as you are foolish enough to enter a coven of feral werewolves, I suppose I could save your sorry hide by doing this. It will take some time; gathering the supplies and brewing that quantity of potion is no easy task. I'll have to completely rearrange my schedule and use up the little spare time I have to do this."

Now it was Remus's turn to be grateful and praising. "I know it's a lot to ask, Severus, but there really isn't anyone else who's up to the task."

"No, there isn't, is there?" And the dance was done. This was how they played. "Assuming you want to leave as early as possible, I will start straight away. It will mean forgoing sleep but I can have it ready in three days. In the interim you can try to figure out how to best transport this much wolfsbane."

"I will," he said while getting up. "Thank you, Severus."

Severus only nodded in reply and saw them out. Bill didn't say a word until there was a great distance between them and the Potions master. "You were lovers," he stated more than asked.

Remus wanted to laugh. The word 'lovers' always evoked images of candlelit dinners and long romantic walks to him-- not quite the right word to define what he and Severus had. "We have a long personal relationship," he replied.

"And that personal relationship included lots of shagging."

Remus did laugh at that. Very loudly. "Yes, it did."

"Did? As in past tense? As in no longer?"

"As in no longer."

"What happened?"

Remus had never talked about it. His personal life was… rather personal. But Remus liked Bill, moreover he trusted him, and perhaps it was time to talk to someone about it if only to prove it wasn't a figment of his imagination. "Sirius happened."

"You mean – "

"No, not that," Remus replied quickly, wanting to save Bill from having to finish that thought. "Severus and I spent a lot of time together when we were students. Sirius was never keen on the idea and took it upon himself to end our association. Needless to say, he was very effective when he set his mind to something. Severus and I tried again while I was teaching at Hogwarts only to be disrupted once more when Sirius turned up at the castle. He thought I was letting Sirius into the school and didn't believe me when I said I did no such thing. He also didn't believe me when I insisted Sirius was innocent at the end of it all. That led to a spectacular row that resulted in his letting the nature of my affliction slip to his Slytherins."

"That's why he did it? That's why he ratted you out?" Bill was flabbergasted.

Remus was touched my Bill's outrage but it wasn't fair to Severus. "Bill, Severus wanted me to make a choice and I did. I chose my friend and he couldn't live with that. If I had remained, the hostility would only have escalated, on both our parts, until something much more egregious happened than my simply leaving Hogwarts. Severus and I bring out a lot in each other, not all of it good."

"Did you ever try again?"

Remus found it interesting that Bill was so curious about his past. He wanted to ask why but thought better of it. Instead, he simply nodded and said: "Just after the Order of the Phoenix re-established. But I was living at Grimmauld Place and Severus was convinced there was something going on between Sirius and myself. I finally had enough. I underestimated how much they hated each other. I had foolishly assumed that their feelings for me would be enough to be cause for a truce. I was wrong."

"Even after Snape realized Sirius was truly innocent?"

"It only made things worse. I don't think Severus could ever forgive Sirius for not being guilty."

Bill remained quiet as they walked toward the outskirts of a neighboring village. Remus occasionally turned toward him, intrigued by the look of concentration on Bill's face. Bill was so young, so full of passion and fire. It was imprinted on his visage as his tattoo was imprinted on his skin, exposed to the world and hidden behind nothing. It was beautiful to watch, this combination of ginger hair, pale skin, black ink, sparkling blue eyes. When a look of determination and intensity reached those features it was almost impossible to turn away.

It was with great reluctance that he did turn away, however, knowing all too well that it would not do to entertain such thoughts. As they continued to walk, Remus could almost feel Bill's gaze, feel the bright blue eyes pierce the skin on the back of his neck and travel his body's length. He was tempted to turn around and meet that gaze.

"Do you want to get something to eat?" Bill asked suddenly. Remus eagerly agreed and they made their way to a local pub.

It was some time later that the dishes containing the remains of their meal were cleaned away and two glasses of mead appeared before them. Bill picked up his glass and took a long, slow sip. Seeming to have gathered his courage, he asked, "Did you ever think of trying things with Snape again?"

"No," Remus said plainly.

"Sirius can't interfere now."

"But he already has."

"What do you mean?"

"Sirius was my last link to the past. If his death taught me anything it's that you can't go home again and expect it to be just as you left it. There's no going back for me. That includes going back to Severus. We work much better as friends."

"I… I don't think he feels the same way," Bill said, almost as if he didn't want to.

"What makes you say that?"

Bill looked up and into Remus's eyes. "He's the one who sent me to find you."

Remus stared back at him for a moment and smiled. "Severus works in mysterious ways," he said under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing," he replied. "Severus does things for reasons only Severus understands. I'm sure he had very specific reasons for sending you to warn me, but I sincerely doubt he is any keener on going back either."

"But how do you know?"

"I know," he said, and left it at that. He didn't know if he could put it into words. Remus and Severus understood each other in a way that only two people whose lives intertwined so frequently could. Try as they might to make things work, they would only succeed in tearing each other to shreds and they both knew it.

"I'm sorry to pry. I've got a bit of a personal stake in this."

"What?" Remus asked, startled; he was clearly unnerved by the comment.

"My brother Charlie has a thing for Snape. I'd hate to see him get his heart broken."

"Oh," Remus said as relief – and a bit of disappointment -- flooded him. "I thought… never mind. So Charlie likes Snape. What happened, dragons got boring and he's looking for something more life threatening?"

"Something like that." Bill grinned. "I swear, the more dangerous the beast the more Charlie gets attached to it."

Remus tried to picture Severus and Charlie Weasley and found it not an all-together awful sight. He was still thinking of it three days later when he and Bill went to pick up the wolfsbane.

They placed the doses of the potion in glass containers that were charmed to remain at a steady temperature. New innovations in the wolfsbane allowed the drinker to take it for just a few days before the full moon as opposed to a full week, so there was enough made for twenty people to take over six months. All the individual doses were then reduced to fit in a case that fit in the satchel that hung over Remus's shoulder.

Severus stood silently as Remus and Bill packed everything away. "I may have a lead for you."

Remus's head snapped up and his eyes latched onto Severus's. "Go on," he urged.

"Apparently several Potions masters were approached by someone from the Ministry about alterations to the wolfsbane. It isn't much, but I should have more information once I am able to conduct proper interviews."

Remus smiled ruefully and almost felt sorry for anyone who would be subjected to one of Severus's interviews.

They had nearly finished packing when Severus asked, "You do remember that the rules are different when dealing with a feral pack?"

Remus paused and turned to him, a look of incredulity on his face. "You can't be serious."

"You've been cavorting with Muggles for a long time. It's an honest contention to think that you might not recall certain things about our world."

There was a bit of hurt in his voice. Not much and certainly not enough for anyone not intimately connected to Severus to detect, but Remus heard it all the same. Severus was worried for him. Worried enough to stay up for more than seventy-two hours to do an almost impossible task.

"I wasn't gone that long," Remus replied. "I promise to tread carefully."

Severus nodded and Remus and Bill walked to the door and prepared for their journey. Before leaving, Remus turned back to his friend. "Severus, are you in need of any dragon parts for your potions?" Bill coughed and began to sputter.

Severus raised an eyebrow at the odd question and Bill's peculiar reaction. "I am, actually. Why do you ask?"

Remus gave him a crooked smile. "Charlie Weasley is working at the Ministry now and he is in charge of their dragon preserve. He may be able to help you out. You should look him up."

Severus narrowed his black eyes. "All right," he said slowly.

Remus said his goodbyes and he and Bill left. The second the door to Severus's workroom clicked shut behind them, Bill began to laugh. "Why, in the name of all things holy, did you do that?"

"One good turn deserves another," was all Remus would say and he walked down the corridor that led to the outside of the castle.

Bill stood looking after him, clearly confused. With a sigh, he shook his head and ran after Remus.

* * *

The Deodar Cedar Forest was a mountainous area covered by dark evergreen trees, tall and wide with graceful, weeping branches. The region was cut by deep valleys and small lakes. There were some visitors who ventured in, lured by promises of wild orchards and enchanted lands, but the majority of the area was secluded and left to the creatures that called it home.

Remus stood on the periphery of the woodlands, on the very spot where a lush meadow ended and a dense forest began. Behind him was open, sweeping country and before him was an area so thick with trees that sunlight didn't touch the ground. It seemed to Remus that his whole life was a litany of instances where he left light behind and walked into darkness. To his memory this would be the first time he did so willingly.

"Where do we begin?" Bill asked while looking over the tops of the tall trees.

"Follow me," he said solemnly. "Try not to speak and stay close."

Remus entered the forest, keeping an eye out for paths worn on the ground and broken branches. Hours passed in silence as he concentrated as best he could on the sounds and smells of the forest, grateful for once that he was "The Human Bloodhound." Behind him, Bill had his wand drawn and was marking their path with red X's on the tree trunks, in the hope that they would not get hopelessly lost in the thicket.

Remus was about to remind him to put his wand away at the first sign of any of the denizens of the forest when the acrid smell of burnt copper reached him. A fresh kill. He took a deep breath and turned to face the direction from which the scent originated. A deer perhaps, or something larger -- an elk, maybe -- and it was close. He turned to Bill and gave him a small nod before taking off and running toward the source of the scent.

With a nimble step he covered the forest grounds, mindful not to make too much noise. Bill tried his best to follow; while quite agile in his own right, he had a hard time keeping up with his friend. Then Remus stopped dead in his tracks, so suddenly that Bill nearly ran him over.

When he looked up, Bill found Remus staring at him with his finger pressed to his lips. Bill looked over to see a spot just over Remus's shoulder where a small pool of blood had collected on upturned soil. Footprints and a trail of red led away from the clearing. As quietly as they could, they followed those footprints and the trail of blood until they came upon a series of huts made from the heavy wood of the forest. In the center of the circle of shelters was a pit surrounded by large rocks with a fire still burning within it. Just beyond that was the abandoned carcass of a red deer. There were no signs of the inhabitants of the settlement.

With no warning and no explanation why, Remus suddenly dropped to his knees and threw his wand several feet in front of him. He placed his hands stiffly on his side, and tilted his head sharply, exposing his neck. It was with great relief that Bill mimicked his actions without his needing to explain them. After several minutes, careful footsteps could be heard from behind them.

"Who are you?" a deep, grizzled baritone asked.

"My name is Remus Lupin. My friend is Bill Weasley. We came to talk to you."

"So talk."

"We aren't here to cause you any trouble; we are just looking for help."

Several more minutes passed when Remus sensed movement on his left. Suddenly he found himself face to face with a tall man, well over six feet, covered in a suit made of animal pelts. Long white hair gathered and tied at the nape of his neck. While his face was lined with fatigue, Remus estimated he was only in his late fifties. A long red talon hung from a string around his neck, indicating that he was the leader of the group. He bent down toward Remus and inhaled deeply. "You are one of us," he said with a bit of surprise in his voice.

"I am one of you," Remus said, angling his head upright again.

"And your friend is not."

"Don't hold that against him. It's not his fault."

The tall man smiled and it was warm enough to prompt Remus to ask, "May I stand?"

He regarded Remus for a moment before extending his hand out and helping him up. As he did so, a few other people appeared from where the brush had concealed them. A smaller, much younger man helped Bill to his feet.

The tall man was once named Nathaniel Reardon; he was now called Father. He was bit when he was seventeen, mere days after finishing his schooling. Because of his education he was the leader of the group; getting a proper education was very difficult for most of their kind.

Originally there were fifteen werewolves that set up the community about two decades ago. Of that group only six remained. This current incarnation of the pack had twelve members, all of whom voluntarily cut off most ties with the rest of world and chose to live in the wild where they would not be ostracized for who they were.

Many came and went over the past twenty years. Some welcomed the freedom that the community offered, others didn't handle the transition well. They built shelters, hunted for food, harvested the fruits that grew wild in the forest, and lead peaceful lives.

They had a contact in the nearest town, about 100 miles to the south, that helped them. He was a fellow werewolf whose family was affluent enough to keep him safe and out of the mainstream. He supplied the clan with medicinal potions, food during the winter, and most importantly, books. All in all it wasn't a bad existence, Remus thought. Lonely perhaps, but not much worse than the life he set up for himself. At least they had each other. Remus had Desmond and Miriam and not much else.

Father led the clan and tried to teach them as much about magic as he could. The pack had only four wands in total and they had all seen better days. They did basic magic, enough to keep the fire perpetually lit, heal minor wounds, purify water, and keep food from spoiling. As little as they knew of the outside world, they were well aware of The Wolfsbane Potion and they were grateful. A few of the older members were beginning to have a harder time with the transformation and they welcomed the reprieve.

"I've been doing all the talking," Father said genially. They sat around the fire pit where they ate and discussed the history of the pack. "You said you came here for help."

"That's part of it," Remus began. "But there's more to it, I'm afraid. We also came here to warn you."

"Warn us?" said Middle Brother, the younger werewolf who helped Bill up upon their arrival.

"There's someone going around harming werewolves."

Father sighed. "That's nothing new."

Remus shook his head. "He's doing it by curing us and then killing us afterward."

Father's smile disappeared quickly. "Curing? There is no cure."

Bill jumped in. "We keep finding bodies of werewolves who are no longer werewolves, killed by things other than silver. It's been going on for six months now, nearly a couple dozen are already dead."

"Have any strangers been around? Other than us, of course," Remus added.

"No." Father shook his head. "Nothing out of the ordinary. Our only visitors have been werewolves looking for a refuge. Some stay, some don't."

"Have you had any come, but not stay, in the past six months?"

"Several."

"Would one of them be a young man about five foot eleven, fair skinned, blue eyed, light brown hair?"

"Marcus," Middle Brother said sharply.

Bill turned to him. "Marcus," he said with a nod.

"He's dead?"

Bill nodded again.

A murmur swept through the small group. Remus noticed that Father looked particularly upset. "You remember him?" he asked.

Father nodded. "He came here several months ago-- a very quiet young man who cried at night. Marcus said he was looking for sanctuary but it seemed to me he was looking for answers. He was bitten several years ago but never came to terms with the wolf." Father turned his attention to Bill. "A werewolf who hasn't come to terms with the wolf is likely to go mad from a divided mind. They continue to believe that they and the wolf are separate entities, when in fact they are one. A werewolf who denies the pull of the moon is likely to be pulled apart. If one thinks himself a monster, he forgets how to be a man. Marcus didn't know what he was. He wanted us to tell him."

"And you couldn't?"

Father shook his head slowly. "What is the measure of a man?" he began sullenly. "Who can draw the line between a human being and a beast? Between a creature and a monster? These are things every werewolf must come to understand in their own time. Marcus was slowly coming around, then one morning we awoke to find him gone. All trace of him vanished as if he hadn't been here. As if he never existed."

Night came upon them quickly, and the exhaustion of their travels hit them like a rogue Bludger. They shared a shelter used by transient visitors. Remus lay on his cot wondering if this was the very room that young Marcus slept in. Did he rest in this cot? Did his head touch this pillow? Did his feet kick up the same dirt? Did he breathe the same air?

His train of thought was stopped when he realized someone was standing at the entrance and trying to peer inside. Remus moved as slowly as he could until he was at the edge of the opening. "You have something to say," he whispered.

"The forest is a dangerous place," said the hushed voice, easily recognizable as Middle Brother.

"I am no stranger to the dangers that lie in the forest," he answered coolly.

"There is not time for games, Remus. Please listen carefully. There were some present this evening to whom your news was not a surprise; not the possibility of a cure, nor Marcus's fate. There are many, even some that have called this place home for years, who would do anything to be rid of their…condition. Some willing to make certain sacrifices where need be."

Remus inched closer to the door and whispered as quietly as he could, "Is someone here responsible for Marcus's death?"

"They know more than they let on. Unfortunately, that is all _I _know. For now. In the meanwhile I think your investigation will lead you elsewhere." There was a gentle rustling of leaves and then silence.

He listened to the wind whistling through tree branches, the call of an owl on his nightly hunt, and the melodic song of a hundred insects. "The forest is dangerous place," he whispered, just as he turned to see Bill sitting up in his cot, with his back pressed against the wall and a far away look in his eyes.

"You're in danger here," he remarked, a voice rough with sleep or something else.

"I'm in danger anywhere," Remus answered.

"I thought--"

"You thought you could protect me?"

Bill looked down at his hands as they grasped a threadbare blanket. "I hoped."

Remus was touched by the sentiment. It had been a while since he heard such a proclamation or felt it to be true.

They left at sunup, deciding to walk rather than Apparate out of the forest. If Remus was honest with himself he would have admitted the main reason he wanted to leave was because he thought he might not have gathered the courage, should he have remained much longer. They had the one thing that most werewolves lose when they receive the bite – a family. While the rest of the world shunned them, they created a haven where they found acceptance and understanding, compassion and companionship. Their primitive existence seemed a small price to pay for that. Remus hadn't felt that kind of connection with anyone since he was a student, and all those with whom he shared that connection were dead.

He was thinking of Lily's eyes when the bullet struck his chest.

_

* * *

Fever dreams, his mother used to call them. Images so real he thought he could touch them, smell the blood that coursed through his veins. Taste it. He could feel pain, even if he had no idea where it came from._

They were usually a side effect of heavy trauma. When he was a child, and his body had yet to get used to the suffering that came with the change, they would haunt his recovery for days. He hadn't had one in a decade and a half.

This one was particularly vivid. Harry was dead, Ron paralyzed, Hermione blind. Severus was maimed and Bill was pleading for mercy. It wasn't until he saw Sirius, a rotting corpse that tore at his skin, that he realized it was only a dream. It was then he understood he was no longer in the forest, no longer walking with Bill. And the pain that burned his hallucinating body was not a figment of his imagination.

His eyes snapped open and he began gasping for air. He couldn't breathe and with each vain attempt, the pain in his chest grew exponentially.

"Poppy!" someone screamed and within seconds the prematurely lined, round face of Madam Pomfrey came into focus. She poured a viscous liquid down his throat and forced him to swallow. It tasted of ash and herbs and scratched his throat raw as it went down, but almost instantly he could breathe. She made him drink some more liquids, asked him questions she wouldn't let him answer, and poked and prodded him until she was satisfied.

It wasn't until she left that he noticed Bill, pale skinned and red eyed, in the chair across from his bed. The abandoned cups of coffee, and pile of cigarette stubs in a saucer, spoke of days spent waiting, even though he was wearing the same clothes as when Remus last saw him. He ventured to guess that if he looked closely enough, he would find that the cigarettes whose ruins marred the saucer were his own.

He would also venture to guess it was Bill who called for Poppy.

"How long?" he asked, more mouthing the words than actually saying them aloud.

"A week."

"What--"

"A silver bullet," Bill interrupted, most probably to spare Remus from having to speak. "It just missed your heart, but managed to puncture a lung. I was able to get the bullet out right away and repair some of the damage. Most people die instantly, so the fact that my mediocre medical ability helped was a miracle. I suggest you start going to a church or something and start thanking the God of your choosing, because it's the only thing that could possibly have saved you."

Remus smiled and lowered his head to his pillow. He closed his eyes while Bill continued speaking.

"I contacted my mother – during the war we got these bracelets charmed to contact one another in case of emergencies; it has a tracking charm and allows us to send a ten second message – I told her you were badly hurt and asked that she bring help. About five minutes later Madam Pomfrey, Snape, McGonagall, Harry, Hermione, and half my bloody family turned up. We treated you there as best we could and brought you here. You needed clean blood pumped through you in a hurry to get out the last traces of silver. You can thank Hermione, by the way. She happens to be your type and was pretty willing to be leeched."

Remus could picture the scene. There would have been a lot of yelling and a lot of arguing. Severus would have been forcing potions on Poppy, threatening her life if she failed to administer them. Harry, of course, would inspect anything Severus offered, shooting hateful glares when he could detect nothing overtly malevolent about the concoction; despite all that passed, those two still hated each other with an astonishing intensity. Minerva would be telling them all to button it or else she was clearing the room. Molly would fret, and Ron would tell her that everything would be fine and would she please calm down. What he couldn't picture was what Bill was doing. Probably just what he was doing now-- sitting and waiting.

All train of thought was halted, however, when he felt the bed dip and found a weight resting on his pelvis. Bill had got up on the bed and was straddling Remus's prone hips. He bent over and took Remus's face in his hands, pulling it up to meet his own until they were nose to nose, a hair's breadth between them.

"I can't love you," he rasped, his voice pained and thick. "I can't." And he leaned down and pressed his lips to Remus's. It was a hard kiss, awkward and desperate and almost cruel.

Bill pulled back, his eyes big and glistening with unshed tears. He dropped his head and curled forward so that his temple rested on Remus's chest. "I can't," he whimpered, just over the spot where a bullet wound still marked Remus's torso.

"I can't love you either," Remus whispered, just before he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

The fever dreams returned, but gone were Harry, Ron, Hermione, even Severus. All that remained was Bill and pain.

In his dreams, Bill's hair was long again. Lengthy ginger tresses fell to his waist and gently rippled in a non-existent breeze. The Mark of the Phoenix still adorned his neck and when Bill took off his shirt, Remus found that the mark went down his chest and past his hips. Remus followed the dark trail down the length of Bill's body only to find it led to a pool of blackness, thick like tar, that swallowed Bill whole.

His eyes shot open and he found the bedclothes twisted around his body and saturated with his sweat. He wrenched the top sheet off only to find himself shivering uncontrollably when his wet skin touched the night air.

"Calm yourself, Remus." Severus stepped out of a dark corner and walked toward him. With a flick of his wand he dried the bedding and replaced it over Remus's chilled skin. With a precise calm he gathered several vials from the side table and held them, one by one, to Remus's lips, forcing him to drink. Remus recognized one of the potions as wolfsbane, which meant the full moon was just a few days off. He must have been unconscious for a long time.

Soon, his breathing and his body temperature steadied and he was able to talk. "How much longer?" he said, his dry voice cracking more with each syllable.

"Your fever finally broke," Severus replied. "You should be able to get out of bed in a few days."

He wanted to ask where Bill was, but he truly questioned if he hadn't imagined the whole thing. Part of him wished he did. Part of him could still feel the slightly chapped lips pressed to his own.

"I sent William home," Severus remarked and Remus was left wondering if Severus was using his Legilimency skills or if he just knew Remus better than should be allowed. "He'd not left your side since we found you and I told him that his presence here wasn't going to make you heal any faster. It would, however, succeed in the rapid deterioration of his own condition and we didn't have the bed space to care for someone so careless."

"So gentle, Severus," Remus said with as much of a smile as he could muster.

"I can't let everyone see my fluffy side. I have a reputation to maintain." He smiled back.

Remus leaned back and closed his eyes. "Will I be all right?"

"You'll live," Severus said gravely, "but your next transformation will be particularly painful. I've added a muscle relaxant to your potion, which should help, but I would recommend that you allow me to sedate you during the next full moon. You won't want to be conscious for that."

Severus was not one for sedating werewolves during the change. For one thing, he didn't care that it was a painful process; life was pain and one could not avoid it, one had to learn to deal. Severus was pragmatic that way. Secondly, and more importantly, the amount of sedative required to knock out an adult would kill most normal humans. There was also the chance that a werewolf would come awake and not remember going through the change, which would wreak havoc on its mindset and might cause it to go into a frenzy. For Severus to suggest it as the best course of action worried Remus. "What would you do?" he asked.

He didn't seem prepared for that question and was visibly taken aback. After a moment's pause he answered. "I wouldn't allow myself to be sedated under any circumstance."

"Then neither will I."

"Remus--"

"Severus, don't. We both know the myriad of things that could go wrong and I'd rather face extreme pain than the possibility that I would wake up and go on a rampage."

Severus remained quiet until he seemed to accept that Remus was right. With a terse nod he stepped back and sat in the chair recently occupied by Bill.

"I've been doing a bit of investigating during your convalescence," Severus said suddenly, and Remus was grateful he changed the subject quickly, for both their sakes. "Several of the leading authorities on werewolves, and specifically those who were instrumental in the development of the wolfsbane potion, were approached by a private group who wanted to test some new developments in the potion. It would make sense that I hadn't heard of it because people would be very tight lipped about such research; no one would want another party acting as a bump on the road to prestige. I was able, however, to find out that several people turned it down."

"Why would they turn it down?"

"There were some ethical questions."

"Would they involve the killing off of a species?"

"No, no one had even considered that as a possibility. They were not informed that any werewolves would come to harm. No, the concerns centered around who was asked for their input. The person, it seemed, wasn't very fond of magical creatures, and no one could come up with a decent response when asked why such a person would be looking for a cure for a creature they cared nothing about."

"Bennet Wharton."

Severus nodded. "The problem is no one is willing to testify to that. After word of the deaths got out, no one was very forthcoming."

"How did you even get them to admit it was him?"

Severus grinned. "I can be very persuasive."

Of that, Remus had little doubt. "Did you tell anyone else?"

"No. To be truthful I wasn't sure if I would tell you."

"Why?"

True to form, Severus didn't answer, instead he changed the subject in a dramatic fashion. "Mr. Weasley was very concerned about you," he said.

Remus huffed. "Bill saw a friend attacked, it's only normal he'd be upset."

"Few friends would be as tortured as he was, Remus."

"I know what you're trying to imply, Severus, and I think you are mistaken. By the way, you are a terrible matchmaker."

"Firstly, I take offense to the term matchmaker; that would imply that I sent William along for reasons other than he was the best candidate for the job and that is simply a misstatement of fact. Secondly, it is you who is mistaken. William was not acting like a loyal friend. He had a much bigger stake in your wellbeing. A much more personal one."

"He's straight," Remus insisted.

Severus smiled. "Not exclusively."

Remus knew better than to argue with Severus when he thought he was right, which was every time they fought. But Remus needed to talk to someone, and somehow Severus seemed like the only one who might understand. Perhaps it was time to come clean. "I think he kissed me."

"You _think_ he did?" He raised an infernal eyebrow.

"I'm not sure it wasn't a dream."

Severus nodded. "So he may have kissed you. Anything else?"

"We spoke. Briefly."

"And what did he say?" he asked slowly.

Remus sighed softly. "He said he can't love me."

It was a testament to their history that Severus was being so patient. "And what did you say?"

Remus looked away. "I said I couldn't love him either."

"Well, that was an incredibly stupid thing to say."

"I can't, Severus, and you know that," he said, shifting in the bed, which suddenly seemed far too small.

"And why?"

He turned to look Severus in the eye. "Because everyone I love dies."

Severus sat back and stared at him, bringing his hand up and stoking his chin as he thought over Remus's words. "I would have to think, 'he began, "that perhaps Mr. Weasley feels the same way."

"He might," Remus said with a small shrug.

"Well then, it also seems to me that you both have nothing to lose. Following your logic, you both will die anyway. At least you will go out with a smile on your face."

Remus laughed and quickly brought his hand to his chest, where pain flared with each chuckle. "You are a right bastard, you know that."

"It is my lot in life, yes."

They remained quiet after that. Severus continued to administer potions and Remus kept thinking of Bill. He had tried so hard to avoid complications to his life, but it seemed he had very little say in the matter.

Remus had nothing to do during the next few days except think. The thing about being on a case was that it was an all-consuming venture. To find answers one must ask the right questions. To ask the wrong question would turn him down roads not meant to be followed. Loss of time could mean loss of life. Many lives. And Remus had enough blood on his hands.

Bennet Wharton was making inquiries, but was that enough to go on? Finding the line that connected him to the slayings would prove tricky, especially with no one talking. Chances were that Wharton wasn't working for himself, that he was making inquiries for someone else-- someone who was using Wharton's connections to meet the right people. Someone more powerful than Wharton, someone with more resources. And many, many galleons.

The question then became: why find a cure for werewolves at all?

Remus's first thought was that someone was looking for the fame that would come with such a discovery. It would be the achievement of the century. But the methods used to reach that goal almost completely ruled that out. The murder of so many creatures, be they werewolves or full humans, would taint any esteem that might have come with the discovery. Remus knew how people hated to get their hands dirty.

His next thought was a werewolf himself. He would, of course, receive the immediate benefits from such an innovation. But few had the resources to even attempt to look for a cure, let alone sustain that search for months, if not years.

Something struck Remus as he thought of this, some trace of a conversation moved through the back of his mind. He lost the train of thought, however, when his door creaked open and Bill Weasley walked in.

"Hi," he said softly.

"Bill," Remus replied. This was the point where one of them should say something, he thought. But damned if he knew what.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine. All things considered."

"Good."

Bill, it seemed, also had no clue what to say. Seeing his discomfort compelled Remus to move past it as quickly as possible. "I've been thinking about the case and about possible suspects. Severus came upon some interesting information –"

"I gather then that you don't want to talk about it," Bill said with a frown.

Remus focused his attention to his hands. "I gathered you didn't. I was trying to spare you."

"I'm not a child. I'm an idiot, but not a child. We can, and should, clear the air."

"There's nothing to clear. There's – "

"There's a lot to clear," Bill insisted.

"No, there isn't," Remus replied plainly.

"You can't just dismiss it. You can't just forget it happened."

"Bill--"

"Do you have any idea what it did to me to see you struck down?" Bill jumped in, seeming to want to get it out before his courage failed him. "The first thing I thought was, _Not again_. Without knowing why I put you in the same category as Fleur. _As my wife._ You fell to the ground and in one second it occurred to me that I might love you and that I had lost you. Lost you before I even had a chance to tell you. Then I got to sit here for days and watch you writhe in pain with no ability to communicate to you. It was like I was dying and I can't go through that… again."

Perhaps there was something to discuss after all. "Bill," Remus began, weakly. "We were thrown together by circumstance, it would stand to reason that certain feelings would develop – "

"I told you I'm not a child. I've been in love; I know what it feels like."

"Fine," Remus nearly shouted, "you might love me. You also told me you _couldn't_ love me. So what exactly am I supposed to come away with from all this? What do you want from me? Or is it that you want me to make some sort of move, give some sort of declaration so that you can wave your responsibility in anything that transpires? So you can walk away with a guilt-free conscience? If that's the case, you're wasting your time. You keep saying you aren't a child so stop acting like one. If you want something go for it, otherwise we have work to do." It was harsh. Harsher then he intended, but he had to stop this right away before it got even more complicated.

He half expected Bill to leave, to open the door that he stood against, and slam it shut. He half expected Bill to scream and tell him he was being a fool and coward, which would have been the truth. What he didn't expect was for Bill to launch himself on the bed and climb atop him.

The second their lips touched, the second he felt strong fingers weave through his hair and a warm body press against his, all expectation flew out the window and with it went the anxiety and the fear that had been twisting him into knots since the moment he heard Bill's voice over the phone. He wanted this. He wanted it badly.

Their position was awkward and the tight pain in Remus's chest had yet to fully subside, but with the full moon a day away and the smell of the musk on Bill's skin thick in the air, Remus couldn't stop himself. Remus lay back, pulling Bill down so that he was sprawled across his body. One hand clasped the small of Bill's back while the other dug into the back of his thigh. All the while Bill was devouring his mouth, sliding a warm, sinuous tongue between Remus's parted lips.

Desperate hands began to tear at clothes and soon tattered fabric lay in piles about the room. Bill began to nip and kiss down Remus's chin and across his collar, sinking his teeth at the junction of shoulder and neck. As Bill bit down, Remus's eyes rolled to the back of his head. The wolf that dwelt in the marrow of his bones recognized the claiming gesture and approved.

Bill loosened his bite and began to suck on the sensitized skin and a growl rumbled through Remus's chest. Bill moaned at the sound, sending little shockwaves throughout Remus's hot skin. This made Remus growl more loudly and flip Bill on his back.

"Not so fragile, after all," Bill whispered with a grinned.

"I'm a fast healer."

* * *

The sun was rising on a new day. It seemed almost poetic.

Remus woke to find sunlight streaming through his window and Bill Weasley stealing the covers. He stared at the ginger hair that hung over Bill's face, tickling the end of his nose. Remus reached his hand out to hook the loose strands behind Bill's ear but instead found his hand drawn to the tattoo that adorned Bill's neck and upper torso. To his surprise, it felt like the rest of his skin: smooth as velvet, and warm with sleep. It seemed wrong somehow. As if it should burn his fingertips, or be as rough as sandpaper. Despite its reason for being in existence, however, it was beautiful and Remus felt duty-bound to kiss every inch of it.

He pressed his lips on a spot just behind Bill's ear and continued to place gentle kisses along the marking's edge. A contented sigh alerted him to his lover's wakefulness and his approval of Remus's method of greeting the new day. Remus rested his chin on Bill's chest and looked up at him through his eyelashes. "Good morning."

Bill smiled. "The best, actually." He pulled Remus up and kissed him soundly.

It was easy, Remus thought. Easier than it should have been to cast all doubt aside and plunge in this, whatever it was. Bill was warm and enthusiastic and he needed Remus just as Remus needed him. They were two men, damaged by life, who just might be able to heal each other.

Bill said wanted to linger and pass the morning doing nothing but exploring Remus's body and finding the spot that caused Remus to make _that_ noise, but Remus reminded him that he was still a patient in the infirmary, and as such, Madam Pomfrey would be coming in any moment to check on his well being. Bill insisted that Remus was much improved, as the bruises on his hips and thigh could attest, and that Madam Pomfrey could stuff it. Remus answered by throwing Bill's pants at his head.

"That's just mean," he pouted as he got dressed.

"I plan on getting released soon and if Pomfrey thinks that our recent activities hindered my recovery, even a bit, she might not let me out of here for weeks."

"Back to work then," Bill said, suddenly solemn.

"I'm afraid so."

Some of their clothing needed to be repaired but soon both Bill and Remus were dressed. Bill straightened the room as best he could while Remus cleaned himself up.

"Full moon's tonight," Bill said, not quite looking Remus in the eye.

"I'm aware of the fact, thanks," Remus replied with a snort.

"Snape… Severus said that you were going to have a rough time of it tonight."

He sighed. "I'm aware of that as well."

"Do you… do you want company?"

Bill was sincere in his query and his concern, and it made something warm stir in Remus's belly, but nonetheless he said, "It's best if I went through this alone."

Remus looked up to find Bill's face inches away from his own. "You don't have to do this alone. Not anymore," he said as he placed a soft kiss on Remus's lips.

Remus reached up and cupped Bill's chin in his hand. "It's not about being alone. It's about you needing to keep working on the case while I'm stuck here. All the murders took place just before a full moon. I worry that we've lost too much time and that someone might suffer for it. I want you to go back to the forest and find the pack. Make sure they know what happened to me and check to see that they're all right."

Bill furrowed his brow. "You think something's happened?"

"You heard my midnight conversation."

Bill nodded as he spoke: "There were some present to whom the news was not a surprise; not the possibility of a cure, nor Marcus's fate."

"Try to get Middle Brother alone and get more information. He knows something. And for my sake, please, take someone with you."

Bill leaned in to give Remus a quick kiss. "I'll be careful. And you mind Pomfrey. I want you healthy. I have plans for you." Another kiss, longer and more intense, and then he was gone.

In the sobering wake of his absence, a familiar skepticism crept into Remus's mind. Bill was so young. So beautiful. What was he doing with a werewolf whose only prized possession was the emotional baggage he carried around with him? Hadn't he, Remus, wanted to avoid complications? Hadn't he spent the last few years separating himself from his past? But that was part of Bill's allure, he supposed. Bill was part of his past, but he was also his present and, it seemed, his future. And he fit, so perfectly in fact, that Remus felt like it wasn't a transition at all.

Madame Pomfrey came in, gave him his last round of potions, made a cryptic comment about thin walls, and left, but not before informing him that he would have to remain there until after the full moon had passed. She had no intention of having him go through his first change since being attacked alone.

He found himself facing several hours of solitude and in the quiet of late afternoon he began to think again of who would want to cure a werewolf and who had the resources to do it. Suddenly Bill reappeared by his side, out of breath and ashen skinned.

"They're gone," he said through rasping breaths as if he ran the whole way to the forest and back.

"Who's gone?"

"The pack. The whole bloody pack. There's nothing there but the remains of their shelters. I think someone warned them, told them to leave."

Remus's eyes shot open and several things clicked into place. "They had a contact in the nearest village, didn't they? A werewolf whose family could afford to keep him safe."

Bill nodded briskly. "I thought of that, too. I took Kingsley with me and when we saw what happened he went back to see if he could find any werewolves registered in the area. We found one. His name is Warren Dorsum. We know where he is. Kingsley is getting a group of Aurors together."

"There's no time. By the time he gets through the Ministry red tape Dorsum will be dead. We need to Apparate to the village," Remus said as he quickly got out of bed.

"What are you talking about? Dead? What are you doing?" He placed a hand on Remus's shoulder, halting him. "You can't go."

"Bill, the full moon is about to rise and he's in danger. I'm sure of it. He won't trust you, but he'll listen to me. If there's one thing a werewolf can do, it's smell out another just before the change."

"But--"

"Bill, please don't argue with me. We need to go. Now!"

Bill must had heard the urgency in Remus's pleading voice because he stopped arguing and quickly Apparated them both to the gate of a house that looked like a smaller version of Hogwarts Castle. Remus walked past the entry and paused.

"No wards. Damn. Come on." Remus began to run toward the house and the minute he got to the door he took out his wand and blasted it open. He and Bill entered an elaborately adorned foyer; they paused as Remus took a deep breath. Without saying a word he raced up a staircase and down a corridor until he came to an open door which led to a study. Seated inside was a weary-looking young man, his head in his hands. At their entry, his head shot up.

"Warren?" Remus asked. "Warren Dorsum?"

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" he replied nervously.

"My name is Remus Lupin."

Warren inhaled and his eyes narrowed. "You're a …You're like me," he said carefully.

"Yes, I am. We need to get you out of here."

Warren's shoulders dropped and he collapsed bonelessly into the chair. "There's no place to go. He'll come for me next."

"There is a place to go," Remus said calmly. "You can come with us. We can keep you safe."

Warren shook his head. "He'll come for you next. He's mad. Completely mad. I can't stop him. No one can. It's all my fault."

"It's all right," Remus said soothingly. "No one blames you."

"It's my fault," he continued to sob. "It's all my fault, but I couldn't stop him. I tried. I really tried."

"What the hell is going on?" Bill asked, completely confused at the scene playing out before him.

Remus tried to explain to Bill while still trying to calm his fellow werewolf. "Warren was looking for a cure, weren't you, Warren? Just a way to ease the pain, to help him and those like him." He addressed the man slumped in the chair who could only nod in reply. When he was sure he still had everyone's attention, Remus continued, "He contacted Bennet Wharton, a Ministry official with all the right connections, to gather the best minds."

Warren continued to nod shakily. "I knew if I could just convince them that a cure was feasible they would look for it. I hadn't… I didn't..."

"You didn't think they would go to such extremes to succeed," Remus finished for him.

"I pulled all funding. I told them I wouldn't be paying for them to use human beings as lab rats, but it didn't matter. By that point it was out of my hands."

"Someone else found out about the research," Remus added. "Someone with a very personal stake in finding a cure. He took control, didn't he?"

Warren nodded and his head fell in his hands again. "He was insane," cried the strained voice. "I saw that right away. Everyone saw that, but no one could stop him. He's too powerful."

"Who are you talking about?" Bill interjected. "Wharton?"

"No, I'm afraid it would be me. _Expelliarmus_!" Bill's wand went flying through the air and clear across the room. He, Remus, and Warren all turned to stare at the outstretched wand of Brigadier General Alistair Odeon. Remus's stomach dropped when he realized that he hadn't brought his wand.

"You are a very persistent werewolf, Mr. Lupin," the general drawled in a disturbingly calm voice. "I must say I'm a bit surprised to find you here, but pleased nonetheless. It will be a rather productive visit."

Remus's nostrils flared as he took a deep breath; his ire flared as he looked in the cold, dead eyes of a murderer. Remus took a step toward him but stopped when the general shook his wand. "Not a wise move, Lupin. I suggest you stand very still. I have a rather itchy trigger finger."

"You killed your own son," Remus growled. "You heartless, bastard."

"I wanted to help my son," Odeon said firmly. "To cure him of his shame. To save my family."

His self-righteousness only further fueled Remus's rage. "But he didn't want to be cured, did he? He knew what you were doing, how you were doing it. He wanted no part of your_ cure._ He went to the wild werewolf pack in the forest to hide from you. When you tracked him down there, he went into the Muggle world to get away."

General Odeon sneered. "Mr. Dorsum has a habit of warning people when I'm coming." He turned to face the werewolf who recoiled behind Bill and Remus. "I didn't like finding the village empty, Warren."

"You hunted down your son," Remus said incredulously. "You found him and forced him to take the cure. But he didn't react the way you hoped, did he?"

Something changed in the general's black eyes and they glinted dangerously as they addressed Remus. "I didn't want to kill him but he left me no choice. He went crazy. His body didn't change, but his mind… his mind did. He was dead before I realized I even muttered the curse."

"And you abandoned him. Left him for dead on some Muggle street."

"Muggle law enforcement surrounded us and I had to Apparate. I retrieved the body when I found where it was being kept. Damn Muggles were going to burn him. Burn my son!"

"They treated him far more mercifully than you did."

"You know nothing of me or my son so I suggest you not toy with my limited patience, wolf." he snarled. "I can make this quick or I can take all night. I'm in no hurry. It was very considerate of you to be waiting here for me."

"I knew it was a matter of time before you decided to tie up loose ends. The Pack first. Appear just before the full moon to make good on the promise for a cure to those you persuaded to spy on your son. Then here, to the one who began the whole endeavor. A dozen men must have worked on the cure-- did you plan on killing them too?"

"I am a thorough man, Mr. Lupin."

"It wouldn't stop after that, would it? You said you would find those responsible for what happened to your son. That you would make sure that justice was served. But you never meant who killed him, because you always knew who was responsible for that. You meant you would find who turned him into a werewolf in the first place. You meant to systematically kill off an entire group of people until you were sure the wolf that infected your son was dead."

Odeon's lips twisted. "Your kind is nothing but a pox on the world. A disease meant to be stamped out before you contaminate the rest of us. You have the gall to demand equal rights. Equal to normal wizards. Well, if werewolves want so much to be treated like normal men, I'm only too happy to oblige. It was my pleasure to see them die as normal men. Sadly, there's no time for that now."

He pulled a revolver out of his robes. Remus had no doubt what sat in the bullet chamber. "I applaud your stalling tactics. I'm sure you have all the answers you sought; should be a comfort as you pass from this life." With a resounding click the gun was cocked and ready. "I've brought extra this time," the general said coldly. "Don't fret, I have something for your friend, as well."

Bill moved and stood in front of Remus. "You can't do this!"

The general laughed. "So like your father. Him with his pet Muggles and you with your pet wolf. Fools, the both of you. I've no time for your pathetic heroics… and I don't care who dies first." He lifted the gun and took aim.

"_EXPELLIARMUS!"_ a voice boomed from behind Odeon, sending the pistol flying through the air. Remus pulled Bill down to the ground while Warren ducked behind an armchair. The gun slammed against the wall and fired, sending a glimmering silver bullet across the room.

"_INCARCEROUS_!" the voice yelled again before anyone could react. Thick ropes wrapped around the general's arms and legs, sending him falling face first to the ground, and his wand across the room. Kingsley Shacklebolt ran in, followed by a dozen Aurors.

The general twisted in the ropes, his pace turning purple. "Shacklebolt! What the hell are you doing?"

Kingsley smiled at him. "It would appear I've just caught a murderer," he said coolly.

"I'll have your wand for this!" he screamed. "I'll have your head!" His eyes were wide and he was practically frothing at the mouth.

"You'll have nothing but a cell in Azkaban, you worthless bastard. Get him out of here!" Four Aurors stepped forward and removed the general's squirming body.

"This isn't over, Shacklebolt! This isn't--" He was dragged out of the room. His screaming could be heard as they dragged his body down the hall.

Kingsley turned his attention to Remus and Bill. "You boys all right?"

"Only just," Remus answered as he helped Bill and Warren to their feet. "It took all I could do to keep him talking until you decided to come in. Did you need to cut it so close?"

"I needed to make sure he confessed to everything. I didn't want him to get away with a single offence. How did you know we were here?"

Remus simply pointed at his nose. "I always did like that cologne."

Kingsley's booming laugh filled the room. "You'd have made one hell of an Auror, Remus," he said genially before turning to face Warren. "Mr. Dorsum, you will have to come with me. We need some information I'm afraid only you can supply. You'll have to stay at headquarters during your change."

Warren got to his feet and walked over to the Auror without saying a word. His stooped shoulders and lifeless eyes spoke of a man who could no longer fight.

"I need you two to come, too."

Bill took Remus's hand and interlaced their fingers. "After the full moon," he said firmly.

Kingsley gave them a warm smile. "Of course." He gave a small bow and left them alone.

Remus made to speak again but Bill stopped him with an unyielding kiss. He wrapped his arms tightly around Remus's waist and held him in place until both their knees went weak. When Bill finally pulled away he smiled softly and said, "After the moonrise, after the meeting with Kingsley, after we've made love until neither of us can walk, remind me to flog you for not letting my know the Aurors were waiting."

It was the thought of that kiss, the sound of Bill's voice, and the playfulness of his words that kept his sanity in tact a few hours later as the change tore through his body. The rays of the moon pierced his flesh like a thousand knives stabbing at his skin. Tight muscles tore as his bones elongated and all he could do was scream and beg for mercy or death. Neither would come.

When the change was complete he fell to the ground, whimpering and sobbing, pain pulsing through every cell of his body. A gentle hand touched his head and began to stroke between his ears. A soft voice whispered, "Shhhh, it's all right, Remus. You're not alone." It was with those words still echoing through the night that Remus allowed sleep to claim him.

* * *

Remus held the formula in his hands for five days. Three potions, two charms, and one Dark Arts ritual were all that stood between him and a werewolf-free existence. How many men died for his information-- this promise of normalcy that only delivered more pain? His first impulse was to throw it in the fire and watch it burn, but then the deaths of so many would be in vain.

He decided to give the information over to Severus. He trusted Severus enough to do what was right. Fix the treatment if he could, destroy it if he couldn't. Severus would not seek glory for glory's sake, not if it wasn't perfect. Of that Remus was sure.

The scrolls went into the packing crates along with the remainder of his belongings. He quietly sealed the box that contained the last bits of his former life. Remus found he could no more return to his life in the Muggle world, than he could recapture the other moments of his past. But he was wrong about one thing: he could go home again.

"You need help with that?" Bill's voice called out.

"No. I've got it." Remus said, a small smile curling his lips at the sight of his lover. He picked up the last of the boxes and headed to the door.

"I'm helping anyway," Bill said haughtily as he took the box. "Don't dawdle. We're to meet Desmond and Millie at Sheffield's and if we're late again Miriam will not let us have pie, and you know how I feel about Miriam's pies." He gave Remus a quick kiss before leaving him alone, giving him one last moment in his small office.

Going home was not about reliving the past, Remus came to realize. It was about finding a place in which he belonged. Where he was treasured, and protected, and loved. Home was a place that nestled him in warmth on the coldest days, and kept him dry during the harshest of rainstorms. Home was arms that longed to hold him and lips that smiled as they said his name. Home was friendship. Home was acceptance. Home was Bill and it was the only home Remus ever wanted to know.

_Finis_


End file.
